


don't make me spell it out

by orphan_account



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/F, Feelings, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 04:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16548464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The alternating perspectives of Ruth and Debbie, who are trying very, very hard to not be in love with one another. (Spoilers: it doesn't work.)Takes place during season 2, then a bit after in Vegas.





	don't make me spell it out

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is brought to you by: reading Yotoob's amazing "From Russia" before I ever even watched Glow. (I had withdrawal after reading Yotoob's incredible Killing Eve fic, and thought why the hell not.) When I got around to watching Glow, I saw nothing but "Ruth and Debbie are IN LOVE, can't convince me otherwise" all throughout season 2. So here we are.

Ruth throws her whole self into everything she does. Well, these days that's literally, physically true, Debbie thinks. But that's not the point she's making. Debbie watches as Ruth—Christ, what even is she doing?—says something or other to Sam; Ruth is giving notes and adding ideas, trying desperately to contribute, like she always does. Ruth is so painfully earnest, ready to work harder than anyone else, even on projects doomed to fail. (Or maybe especially on those.)

And Ruth just keeps trying. Debbie has watched her pour her talent, brains, ambition, and dedication into auditions and the odd gig here and there, over and over. It never works. Debbie can't watch anymore, not now. She turns away and leaves the gym in disgust—disgust at Ruth, herself, the entire freakin' world.

***

Ruth falls in love, a little bit, with everybody she comes to admire as a friend. She's long accepted this. Even with... women in her life. She's always known that about herself, too (even if she's never acted on it).

So yes, she falls—just a little—for Sam. He's grumpy and treats people terribly on a whim. And she gets him, talent and struggling and all. And sort of despises him too.

And because she's a mature, professional adult who can make good choices (ha! snickers the voice in her head, the one that sounds like Debbie) she does her best to steer clear of... all that, with Sam. She knows herself, and she can see Sam slowly convincing himself that he and Ruth can be a thing, and she does not want to be anywhere near that.

With Russell... well, he's there, okay? (And isn't that what Debbie said about Mark, confiding to Ruth in the early stages of their dating, in what feels like so long ago?) Ruth hasn't fallen even a tiny bit in love with Russell. But he likes her, and even Ruth is able to see that. She clings onto the comfort. The safety. It's flattering, being liked, and she's not nervous or scared or anything. (She wasn't scared around Mark either. Not the way she is around Debbie.)

***

Yolanda is a lesbian. She likes—no, loves—girls. Debbie is reeling at this. She literally has to sit down, on a grubby bench covered in cigarette ash, to process this. It's not that Debbie doesn't know what being gay is; she doesn't live under a rock, and besides, she briefly did musical theatre. She's just... never met a gay person. Well, knowingly met, that is. There were always rumors in the acting pool, some more credible than not.

But an out and proud lesbian—this is a first. So Debbie sits there and definitely does not process. She definitely does not think about the times she's forced herself to look away from women's bodies. She definitely does not think about those girlfriends (whom she had called "girlfriends" with none of the connotations flashing through her mind now) she had been just a little too excited to see, just a little too crushed when their friendships ended.

She definitely does not think about how she was more furious at Ruth for sleeping with Mark, than with her husband for cheating on her. Debbie definitely does not think about lesbianism and Ruth.

***

The only thing Ruth can feel is blinding pain. She's distantly aware of the lights, the ring, and then Russell carrying her. But all she can really feel is the pain—sharp, dull, everything—from her ankle, radiating through her entire leg. She sobs and wants it to be over, to be better, to be snapped off entirely—anything to make the pain stop.

And then she's sitting on a lumpy chair under fluorescent lights, surrounded by the girls. Ruth hates that the first thing she asks for is Debbie. (Pathetic, says the voice that sounds like Debbie in her head.) She hates that Debbie isn't there. If Debbie were there, Ruth could pretend it was an accident. That Debbie didn't mean to hurt her. That Debbie was sorry.

But Debbie isn't there. So instead, Ruth sits there, knowing that Debbie hates her. The look in Debbie's eyes, in the ring—like she didn't see Ruth. Like she didn't know her. They've been able to read each other clearer than any script since college, yet Debbie ignored every one of her cues, and just kept pulling and pulling and pulling—until, pop.

Debbie hates Ruth, and Ruth hates that she can't hate Debbie for hurting her.

***

Debbie doesn't know what the fuck is wrong with her. She stands under the shower, motionless and unseeing, the water finally hot for once (the girls aren't there to run it cold; they're with Ruth, like Debbie should be—like Debbie can't be). She just feels empty.

The high is wearing off, horribly leaching out of her body, leaving her far too aware of the reality of the situation. She never loved Mark. She _redacted_ Ruth. Ruth fucked Mark. (Or Mark fucked Ruth? Or just, they fucked?) And now, on top of all that, Debbie has maimed Ruth.

A wave of guilt washes over Debbie, and she feels bile in her throat. Ruth loves this show, and Debbie has taken that away. Or... she doesn't know yet. The injury could be minor? Debbie snorts at her own pitiful attempt at optimism. (She felt the pop.) Debbie tries to remind herself that she hates Ruth. (She definitely does not think that she maybe _redacted_ Ruth.)

Bash storms in, and Debbie thinks, maybe, at least, she can go to the hospital.

***

Ruth cannot believe what the fuck is wrong with Debbie. Ruth fucked up, she apologized, she acknowledged that her apology was not and could not be enough. But Debbie will not own up to anything—that her marriage was not perfect, that her life was not perfect, that, newsflash, Debbie was not a perfect friend!

Ruth half sits, half lays in the hospital bed, still in full Zoya costume and makeup, woozy from god knows whatever Melrose handed her, and she shouts at Debbie.

Debbie shouts at Ruth too, but Ruth is only half listening—the other half is at war with itself, in halves again. Ruth is trying to keep it buried in her, to not give it away: she is in too deep. She's always been too invested in Debbie, and that was okay when they were okay. Ruth could always just be the admiring friend, the supportive sidekick to the glamorous hero.

But they're not okay, and this being in too deep with Debbie thing is eating her alive. Part of Ruth wants to shout this at Debbie, to make her understand, and to fix this or end this once and for all. Ruth doesn't. Instead, she holds her tongue and cries.

***

Debbie rages at Ruth. Ruth, who used to be so good at calming her down whenever something riled her up—Ruth would agree, join in with the whatever heckling or disparagement Debbie was doing, and just like that, Debbie would come down, understood and satisfied in her superiority.

Ruth, who is now sitting there, looking as broken as Debbie feels. Debbie is dimly aware that she's losing the battle at not thinking about her _redacted_ for Ruth. She doesn't know what to do with all this—all the complexity of what she's feeling toward Ruth, she just funnels it all into only the rage.

As she storms out, Debbie wonders how long this can last.

***

Saying goodbye to Russell is... not hard. At all. Ruth tries to convince herself she's falling in love. She looks into his eyes, slow and deliberate. Searches herself for any amount of longing when they share a slow kiss. Tries to feel any spark, when talks about writing mush letters to each other.

It doesn't work. Ruth feels nothing. She should probably break this off... when they're in Vegas, she decides. When she has enough new distractions. She'll replace Russell with whatever is in Vegas—and that will keep her away from Sam. And if Sam is her last distraction from Debbie, then, well, staying away from Sam means Ruth can stay away from Debbie too.

***

Releasing Randy feels like the hardest goddamn thing Debbie has ever done, and she's given birth, wrestled, and, in the last two days, smiled at Ruth cordially. Randy is hers, and he's so cute and small and helpless right now. Debbie aches at the thought of him being without her. She doesn't know how to stop worrying about him, to make her mental broadcast let go of the channel that's tuned to Randy 24/7, and stop being worried sick all the time.

She supposes she'll just have to live with it. That, and the thoughts that assault her every time she so much as thinks about _redacted, double redacted_.

***

They get to Vegas when it's dark. The city is lit up around them, perpetually awake and ready for a night of forgetting sorrows. The girls, who have been sleeping most of the ride—it's really difficult to not get lulled to sleep on this bus—awaken and go off screaming into the hotel lobby.

Ruth just wants to sleep some more. In fact, Ruth could just sleep all day every day, minus the wrestling, and be happy with that. So Ruth just checks in and trudges up the dingy staircase to her room. The girls aren't put up in premium rooms—they're small, just a view of the parking lot and a dirty side street—but they have individual rooms, and their hotel is much nicer than the old motel. (Perks of their new sponsor—"Chickies: come for the wings, stay for the breasts!")

***

Debbie watches Ruth go, and she realizes she can't take it any longer. She can't.

Bash is excitedly chatting with the concierge, yelling in delight about all the things he wants to take Rhonda to go see. Sam is grumbling at the girls' antics, but has made no move to retire to his own room—lonely bastard, Debbie thinks, half with malice and half with gruding acceptance of her co-producer. (Not that Debbie knows if she's still a producer. Or how the fuck a live show in Vegas even works.)

But Debbie really cannot take it any longer, so when the bellboy moves to take her bags, Debbie holds out a hand to stop him.

"No, thanks," she says, eyes on the stairwell. "I can take it; I'm going to my room."

***

There's a knock at her door, and Ruth almost doesn't get up to answer it. She assumes it's Sam or Sheila, wanting to be a misanthrope and hide in her room. She eventually takes pity on either one of them she imagines in her mind, and rolls off her bed to unlock the door.

It's Debbie. She looks... unfairly good for someone who's been in a bus all day. Ruth licks her lips, suddenly feeling self conscious about how chapped and dry they are, and just generally feeling like nothing compared to Debbie.

Debbie raises both her eyebrows and thins her lips. Then the expression is gone in a flash. "Are you going to—?" Debbie tilts her head toward the door and waves both arms forward, motioning inside.

"Oh! Um, yes, yeah, come in." Ruth knows her voice is high pitched but she's too shocked to control her vocal chords, it seems.

They step inside, Debbie brushing past Ruth and dropping her bags. The door shuts, heavy and loud. They stand there in the silence, Ruth literally holding her breath, for fear of disturbing Debbie.

"I, ahm-" Debbie stops, then looks as if she's literally chewing on her thoughts. Her jaw works side to side, then she lets out a huge breath, her cheeks puffing out as she exhales.

She rolls her neck, like she's stretching before a fight. "I hated you. So much. And now... now I just really fucking miss Randy, I kind of hate Mark's new therapy persona or whatever, I'm exhausted, and I can't hate you."

Debbie's eyes meet Ruth's, just briefly, and then she looks at the wall, past Ruth's shoulder. "I can't hate you, okay? I want my friend back, I need—" her voice breaks, and Debbie swallows hard.

And then Debbie's eyes are shimmering, and holy fuck, Ruth has not seen Debbie cry in forever. She's seen Debbie raging at her, or Sam, or the KDTV guys, and she's seen Debbie dismissive and tired and exhilarated. Both as herself and as Liberty Belle. But she hasn't seen Debbie cry in so long.

Ruth doesn't know what to do, so she just kind of lunges and hugs Debbie before she can overthink it and talk herself into remaining motionless and inoffensive. Debbie is pliant and her head comes down to rest on Ruth's shoulder. Cautiously, Ruth wraps her arms up from below, to Debbie's shoulders. She sighs in relief—mentally, still taking care to not make any unnecessary movements—as Debbie clings onto Ruth, her arms circling around Ruth's back.

(Ruth tries not to let her emotions get too strong, as if Debbie could feel them through their physical contact.) She dampens down the surprise, the relief, and the anxiety. The stab in her heart that just constantly aches from Debbie's presence in her life twists. Ruth is pretty sure her heart is racing, that it's not just in her head, from the effort to keep up with all this.

***

Oh god, she's draped all over Ruth, letting herself be held by Ruth, and probably leaving a gross spot of tears and snot on her sweatshirt. This is not what Debbie meant to do when she came in. She meant to... be stupid and reckless.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?

Besides, Debbie knows Ruth is a professional. Whatever happens, she'll be chipper and mature and whatever, for the show to work.

Really, if Debbie came in all bravado and kissed—god, she can't even censor herself anymore—Ruth, the only person Debbie would be destroying is herself. (Debbie is the one who has always needed comfort. Ruth can survive anything.)

Debbie hears her own sobs quiet down, and she thinks of Randy, who sometimes bawls himself dry, and hiccups until he falls asleep, exhausted. She gives a short desperate laugh, and then groans at the embarassment of it all.

(Did she seriously think she could... seduce Ruth? Only to do _this_?)

Debbie pulls back, putting enough distance between them that they're not touching anymore, and forces herself to meet Ruth's eyes.

Ruth is looking less deer in the headlights than when Debbie came in, and more like... more like the old Ruth. Before everything.

Debbie knows she does not look like the old Debbie.

"Sorry. Um. Fuck, sorry. I'm a mess," Debbie says, with another wet half laugh, which is now verging on the hysterical.

"It's fine," Ruth says, and god, her voice sounds so sincere. "Do you wanna, um—stay? We can order food? Or. Or shower? I mean, you can shower, and I will shower, separately because we have our own rooms, and you must be feeling gross—not that you look gross! I just mean, I feel gross so you might also, um... yeah." Ruth trails off, looking embarassed. But a normal embarassed. Like she could look before this mess.

Debbie is really, really feeling stupid. She's divorced, missing Randy like her chest is hollow, has thrown her lot in with a wrestling show in Vegas, and is now going to ruin her barely professional, barely functioning relationship with her best heel.

But it must be the sleep deprivation, the homesickness, the emptiness in her chest, and the—well, the feelings, that she has for Ruth—combining explosively. Because Debbie is stepping forward again, back into Ruth's personal space.

She starts her trajectory and then just shuts her eyes, because Debbie cannot be looking at Ruth at the moment she is about to ruin everything—and then she kisses Ruth.

***

Ruth is pretty sure she had a stroke the moment she heard the knock on her door, and everything since has been a fever dream. Because Debbie has been honestly vulnerable with Ruth—has let Ruth literally hold her—and now her lips are on Ruth's.

(Is that an aneurysm she's having yet? No? Hm.)

Too soon, Debbie's lips aren't there anymore. In fact, Debbie's body has gone tense, and she's started to take another step backwards. Ruth reads her intuitively, before her conscious thought has caught up; Debbie is reacting to Ruth's non-reaction. So Ruth's body moves on instinct. She reaches out and her hand lands on Debbie's waist, halting her retreat.

She is pulling Debbie back, and once again, her body does not seem to be waiting for any conscious, rational thought to kick in, because Ruth is now kissing Debbie back.

She's imagined this, of course. Has never let her imagination get too far though, because even in her daydreams, Debbie would never want someone like Ruth. But she's indulged in the thought of what it might be like if Debbie ever noticed her, ever wanted her the way Ruth wanted Debbie, even for just a moment.

Her imagination has nothing on reality. Debbie's lips are soft, and her body, now pressing into Ruth's, is hot and firm and soft in all the right places, and Debbie's hands are at Ruth's neck and at her hips, slowly lowering further down to the curve of her ass—

Okay, and now Ruth's brain has caught up. She jerks away, breathing hard, now an arm's length away from Debbie, and just freezes and stares.

***

Debbie can't believe Ruth is kissing her back. She can barely think the words, that she likes Ruth in a more than a friend way, and that she kissed Ruth.

And now Ruth is kissing her back. A stray thought goes through her mind: it's the first time Debbie has kissed anyone this much shorter than her since that one time she played spin the bottle at that one wrap party. And it's definitely the first time she's kissed a woman. (And Debbie is definitely very much into it.)

Debbie pulls Ruth closer, one hand reaching at Ruth's hair, and one chasing delightful softness down her lower back.

And then Ruth is jumping backward, and Debbie feels like her hand stings, like her lips sting, like her entire body is stinging from rejection (and regret, at herself, for pushing for this).

Caught in humiliation and regret, Debbie doesn't say anything.

For a long time, Ruth doesn't say anything.

Then she explodes. "What the hell. What the _hell_?" Ruth demands. "You ignore me. Then scream at me. Then join my show. Then make me feel like shit for your benefit. Then decide you need me, or Zoya. And then... _break_ my ankle."

Ruth's eyebrows furrow, her lips pinch, and her neck pulses, in the way that Debbie knows means Ruth is fighting tears.

Ruth goes on, unrelenting. "And then you make nice. And this? What is this? Just. Getting even with Mark? What, you want to fuck me too, complete the triangle?" she demands, voice rising to a shout.

And now the stinging makes its way from Debbie's hands and lips into her chest where the hurt settles. "That's... wow," is her best retort. "Okay. Wow. That's what you think of me? Great. I'm a real—" Debbie rolls her eyes to the side, searching for the words, opening her mouth and closing it again.

"I'm a real piece of work," Debbie decides on. "According to you. Can you not believe what I said? I'm exhausted. I don't hate you. I kind of... for fuck's sake, Ruth, don't make me spell it out."

Ruth doesn't seem to want to let Debbie off the hook easily. She stands there, with her arms crossed, her mouth quivering a little from her effort to hold her tears back.

Debbie takes a deep breath and just... finishes the plunge off the cliff she's taken. "I don't hate you," she says. "I like you. I thought I made that clear, what with—" Debbie gestures between them, jerking her hand back and forth a couple times, then it kind of fizzles out into a weird flapping and she lets it go.

Ruth actually does start crying at that. "Oh my god, you. You mean it. Oh my god. I ruined the moment. You like me? And I—oh my god."

Debbie clings onto one tiny aspect of everything that has just happened. "'Ruined the moment'? So. You...?"

Ruth lets out a forceful sigh, and throws her head back a little, uncrossing her arms. Her teary face goes exasperated. "Yes. God. You idiot. Only since, like, we met."

Debbie blinks. That's... okay. She does her best to marshall her thoughts into some kind of order.

So. Ruth likes Debbie. Debbie likes Ruth. Ruth has known for, well, forever, it sounds like. Debbie has only started thinking the words to herself, oh, about one hour ago.

"Can I..." Debbie hesitates, but she's made it this far. "Use your shower? My bags are," Debbie flicks her wrist at the pile tossed by the door, forgotten when she walked in. "And, um. Can we order takeout?"

Ruth returns Debbie's tentative hope with a growing smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I wrote Debbie as approximately 800% more impulsive and head on than I think she would have been in most timelines. But, I didn't have the patience to write 20 more chapters of these two dumbs dancing around each other. So I made the stars align.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!


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